The Seven Deadly Sins: Envy
by Shado-chan
Summary: Even though he has someone like me, he never comes home. Why? A short story on the song The Tailor Shop at Enobizaka by Megurine Luka **Rated M for some adult themes**


The Tailor Shop at Enobizaka

My shop is settled in the middle of a small, peaceful paradise. A town, where everyone knows everybody else. It's quite boring, actually. But you'll get used to it after a while.

Every day, people file into my shop, placing orders or picking up clothing I had tailored for them. I am the talk of the village—they complement me on how great my work is, and when I go out I see them bragging to their friends about the clothes I made for them.

I used to feel touched, but recently something has been nagging at me. I have a lover, and he says he loves me back, but he never comes to see me. Why?

No. I must concentrate on my work.

I carry my scissors in one hand, holding down the fabric with the other. I use my mother's old sewing scissors. "The more you sharpen it, the better it cuts," she always used to say. It's true. Every single day before I open up shop, I take some time to sharpen them, and they glide along even the roughest fabrics with the greatest ease.

* * *

><p>Today, I went out to buy more fabric.<p>

I crossed the bridge over the river that runs through the town as I was going back to my shop. On my way, I saw him further down. He was walking with a tall, reddish-brown-haired woman. What caught my eye though was the deep, cherry-red kimono with the translucent flower print on it that she was wearing, billowing softly in the light breeze. It was one _I _had sold not a week earlier to the very same woman! I felt heat rising in my cheeks, blood coming up to flush my face red as I stormed away from the two.

But I must concentrate on my work.

I had closed my shop for the rest of the day; drew the curtains and locked the door from any onlookers.

I took the deep red fabric down from the back room and rolled it out, scissors in hand. Tears poured down my face as I tied my pink hair back with a small ribbon, kneeled down, and started to tailor a kimono out of that fabric.

* * *

><p>I awoke suddenly that night to the sound of my own screaming.<p>

There were small red fingerprints on the sheets of my futon—strange. That's where I had been clutching not a moment earlier. I hadn't begun to bleed yet, though, so what was it?

. . . Ink. I refuse to believe it was blood.

After I had taken the half-hour to wash and dry the sheets, I tucked them back into the futon and climbed in myself.

I tossed and turned for a while, still thinking about my lover and that woman. But steadily, the sound of the calmly-flowing water from the river filled my ears and I finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>The village is restless. Not because I closed shop early . . . no; that is far from everyone's minds, I can assure you. Someone has thrown a wooden stake into the middle of our perfect paradise. The red kimono woman was found dead in her own bed this morning—stripped naked and stabbed repeatedly in the chest.<p>

Some people think she was raped, but authorities have not released any more information at this point.

I had set out to buy more supplies today. I had forgotten some thread on my last trip, and had run out of it last night. So I went.

History repeats itself, no? For I saw him right outside the window today with a young, teal-haired girl. He seemed troubled, and the girl was comforting him. She had a dark, pine-green sash on around her kimono, glittering in the sunlight.

Oh. So that's the kind of girl you like.

I pay for the things and rush out, back to my shop. He didn't notice me at all, and I was contempt with it staying like that.

I close up early again, heading into the back room where I do all my work. I light an oil lamp, hanging it on a hook from the ceiling. It creates a dim glow around the room, nothing more. A dim glow is all I need for my puffy red eyes as I take the green fabric off the shelf, my scissors, and set to work again.

* * *

><p>The sheets are soaked with sweat when I awake in the middle of the night again. The green sash girl was in my dream. What part did she play . . .?<p>

. . .

. . . No. I can't remember.

I get up and wander around the village as I waited for the sheets to dry. My face felt hot and clammy. Am I catching a fever?

I ended up slipping my sandals off, hiking my kimono up to mid-thigh, and placing my bare legs in the water of the river, sitting on the side bank and watching the moonlight glimmer on the slowly-rippling surface. I let my legs grow numb in the winter-chilled water, not caring about anything.

Everything's just so peaceful at night . . .

* * *

><p>There was another crime today. The green sash girl this time, naked and her face mauled. Body dumped in the town's holy garden, under a cherry tree in half-bloom. The people are very disturbed, me no exception. What had happened to our heavenly paradise?<p>

. . .

I went for a walk before opening shop this morning. Let's see if fate decided to be cruel to me again.

Sure enough, it does. He was standing outside the hairpin shop, having just bought one for this little girl and fixing it in her hair. She looked far too young, maybe around fourteen.

I couldn't help but stay and watch.

It was a very bad idea, though, for when he was done fixing it in her hair, he bent down and kissed her, deeply, and to my horror, she leaned into it! Accepting it! I turned and stormed off, back to my shop, anger and jealousy welling up inside me.

I didn't even bother to open up shop that day. I just locked myself in the back room again.

As I was pulling out the yellow fabric, though, I noticed my scissors had a slight rosy hue.

Strange. Were they always this color?

* * *

><p>I watch the blood drain from the hairpin girl's face, her eyes slowly dimming as I stand over her, bloodied scissors in hand. My mouth spreads into a wicked grin as I pick up her naked corpse and throw her into the river . . .<p>

I awake, screaming and hyperventilating. Why? Why must the hairpin girl plague my dream so? And me? A murderer?

. . .

I walk outside and end up sitting back at my spot in the river. The clouds are covering the moon tonight, and as I wait longer, it begins to rain, soaking me through. I pay no attention. Instead, I watch the droplets splash ripples onto the surface.

. . . I must have returned to my shop sometime later, slipping out of my sodden clothes and undergarments and changed into new ones. But what did I do after that?

. . .

"Red kimono,

"Green sash,

"Yellow hairpin.

"Look, I have become the kind of girl you like.

"How is it? Aren't I beautiful?"

"They were my family, girl! Don't you understand? I don't love you!"

". . . ah. I see . . . hypocrite."

* * *

><p>The town is in chaos. Both the yellow hairpin girl and a man have been killed . . . the whole family of four. They have been killed by someone.<p>

Before he died, when we passed by earlier yesterday, he said to me, "Hello, how nice it is to meet you." It was as if he was talking to a stranger.

_It was as if he was talking to a stranger!_

. . . But I must concentrate on my work.

I don't even look out the windows today. I just hole up in the back room.

The scissors are now dripping red as I set to work yet again.


End file.
